For I am singled from the herd of men,
A vile, heart-broken wretch;
Wil. Indeed, indeed, Sir,
You 'deeply wrong yourself. Your equal's love, The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of grat itude,.
All follow you :-and I!-I owe you all!
Mort. Mark me, Wilford.
I know the value of the orphan's tear,
The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected
I feel to merit these, and to obtain them,
Is to taste here below, that thrilling cordial
Which the remunerating Angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,
To pour on blessed souls, that enter heaven,
I feel this :-I !-How muft thy nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand,
In human blood?-And yet it seems, this day
I sought your life.-O! I have suffered madness-
None know my tortures-pangs !-but I can end
them:
End them as far appertains to thee.
I have resolv'd it.-Hell born struggles tear me ! But I have ponder'd on't, and I must trust thee. Wil. Your confidence shall not be
Mort. You must swear.
Wil. Swear, Sir !-will nothing but an oath then
May all the ills that wait on frail humanity
Be doubled on your head, if you disclose
My fatal fecret! May your body turn
Most lazar-like, and loathsome; and your mind
More loathsome than your body! May those fiendsTM
Who strangle babes, for very wantonness,
Shrink back, and shudder at your monstrous crims,
And, shrinking, curse, you! Palsies strike your youth!
And the sharp terrours of a guilty mind
Poison your aged days; while all your nights,
As on the earth you lay your houseless head.
Out-horrour horrour! May you quit the world
Abhorr'd,, self-hated, hopeless for the next,
Your life à burthen, and your death a fear!
Wil. For mercy's sake, forbear! you terrify me.
Mort. Hope this may fall upon thee;-Swear
thou hopest it,
By every attribute which heaven, earth, hell,
Can lend, to bind and strengthen conjuration,
If thou betray'st me.
Wil. Well I-(hesitating.)
Mort: No retreating!
Wil: (after a pause.)
I swear by all the ties that bind a man,
Divine, or human,---never to divulge !
Mort. Remember you have sought this secret
Extorted it. I have not thrust it on you.
'Tis big with danger to you; and to me,
While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable.
Know, Wilford that damnation !
Collect yourself. This shakes you horribly.
You had this trembling, it is scarce a week,
At Madam Helen's.
Mort. There it is. Her uncle--
Wil. Her uncle!
Mort. Him. She knows it not---None know it--You are the first ordain'd to hear me say,
- his murderer.
Wil. O, heaven!
Mort. His assassin.
Wil. What, you that---mur---the murder---I am choak’d!
Mort. Honour, thou blood-stain'd God! at whose
Sit War and Homicide, O, to what madness
Will insult drive thy votaries! By heaven,
In the world's range there does not breathe a man
Whose brutal nature I more strove too soothe,
With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy,
Than he who fell by me. But he disgrac'd me.
Stain'd me,.--oh, death and shame!--the world
look'd on,
And saw this sinewy savage strike me down ;
Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro,
On the base earth, like carrion. Desperation,
In every fibre of my frame, cried vengeance!
I left the room, which he had quitted. Chance,
(Curse on the chance!) while boiling with my
Thrust me against him, darkling in the street :--I stabb'd him to the heart and my oppressor Roll'd, lifeless, at my foot.
Wil. Oh? mercy on me!
How could this deed be cover'd!
Mort. Would you think it?
E'en at the moment when I gave the blow,
Butcher'd a fellow creature in the dark,
I had all good men's love. But my disgrace,
And my opponent's death, thus link'd with it,
Demanded notice of the magistracy.
They summon'd me, as friend would summon friend,
To acts of import, and communication.
We met and 'twas resolv'd to stifle rumour;
To put me on my trial. No accuser,
No evidence appear'd, to urge it on.--
'Twas meant to clear my fame.---How clear it, then?
How cover it? you say.---Why, by a Lie:--
Quilt's offspring, and its guard. Itaught this breast,
L... VOL. 4.
Which Truth once made her throne, to forge a lie;
This tongue to utter it.---Rounded a tale,
Smooth as a Seraph's song from Satan's mouth;
So well compacted, that the o'er throng'd court
Disturb'd cool justice, in her judgment-seat,
By shouting" Innocence !" ere I had finish'd.
The Court enlarged me; and the rabble
Bore me, in triumph, home. Aye !---look upor
I know thy sight aches at me!
Wil. Heaven forgive me!
I think I love you still :---but I am young;
I know not what to say :---it may be wrong.--
Indeed I pity you.'
Mort. I disdain all pity.--
I ask no consolation. Idle boy!
Think'st thou that this compulsive confidence
Was given to move thy pity ?---Love of Fame
(For still I cling to it) has urged me, thus,
To quash thy curious mischief in its birth.
Hurt honour, in an evil, cursed hour,
Drove me to murder---lying :---'twould again.
My honesty, sweet peace of mind,---all, all!
Are barter'd for a name. I will maintain it.
Should slander whisper o'er my sepulchre,
And my soul's agency survive in death,
I could embody it with heaven's lightning
And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit
Should strike the blaster of memory
Dead in the church-yard. Boy, I would not kill thee:
Thy rashness and discernment threaten'd danger: To check them there was no way left but this :Save one---your death :- --you shall not be my vic
Wil. My death! What take my life-?-My life to prop
This empty honour.
Mort. Empty! Groveling fool!
Wil. I am your servant, Sir: child of your bounty;
And know my obligation. I have been
Too curious, haply; 'tis the fault of youth.
I ne'er meant injury: if it would serve you,
I would lay down my life; I'd give it freely :---
Could you, then, have the heart to rob me of it?
You could not ;---should not.
Mort. How!
Wil. You dare not.
Mort. Dare not !"
Wil. Some hours ago you durst not. Passion moved you;
Reflection interposed, and held your arm.
But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it,
My innocence would give me strength to struggle,
And rest the murderous weapon from your hand..
How would you look to find a peasant boy
Return the knife you levell'd at his heart;
And ask you which in heaven would shew the best,
A rich man's honour, or a poor man's honesty?
Mort. 'Tis plain I dare not take your life. To
spare it,
I have endanger'd mine. But dread my power ---
You know not its extent. Be warn'd in time:
Trifle not with my feelings. Listen, Sir!
Myriads of engines, which my secret working
Can rouse to action, now encircle you.
I speak not vaguely. You have heard my princiciple;
Have heard, already, what it can effect:
Be cautious how you thwart it.. Shun my brother
Your ruin hangs upon a thread; Provoke me,
And it shall fall upon you. Dare to make
The slightest movement to awake my fears,
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